


Washing The Dishes

by tinknevertalks



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag - Sanctuary For None pt2, F/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 12:27:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11897727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinknevertalks/pseuds/tinknevertalks
Summary: After the destruction of the Old City's Sanctuary, Helen finally feels again.





	Washing The Dishes

**Author's Note:**

> *Shrugs* I like the idea of people in kitchens.

The tears come unbidden as she's washing a plate. It was such a small thing, but her stupid eyes just wouldn't stop. Everything from the past two weeks flattened her in that instant. Uncovering the whole Sanctuary network on national television, blowing up her home, her Old Friend... Her guts twisted as she remembered the sight of him lying there, like a sacrificial lamb on the altar that would be Caleb's tomb. So much death that day. So much her fault. She'd been planning for so long she had forgotten they were people – _family_ – not pawns.

The hot water was scalding her but she didn't feel it, the crushing weight on her shoulders much more pressing. How could she be so selfish? That's what Nikola called her once they arrived down at Hollow Earth, selfish. He'd barely spoken to her since then, content to jabber Henry's ear off but nary a word past, “Pass that glass,” to her. 

She was lonely. Lonelier than her time living from 1898. At least then she could, sometimes, come out of hiding. Now everyone else was hiding. And she wasn't sure she was welcomed to go look.

“Helen?”

Her back straightened as she closed her eyes, resolute that no-one would see her weak. She carried on with the plate, hearing an echo of Declan ( _of all people_ ) warning that she'll wash away the pattern going on like that.

“Helen, I know you can hear me,” Nikola murmured gently from across the kitchen. Helen imagined him leaning against the door frame, hair on end after a few hours battling her computer systems, wine glass empty in his hand. 

Her shoulders slumped. She sniffed raggedly.

In a blink, arms wrapped around from her side and a fierce kiss pressed against her head. Susurrate noises issued forth which did nothing to console her; if anything it made the tears fall faster. She couldn't wipe her eyes as her hands were sodden with soapy water, couldn't turn around, couldn’t face him.

Gentle thumbs wiped away her tears, and soon she moved in his arms. “Nikola...” Who's broken voice was that?

“Shh.” He stroked her hair. 

And with that her body surrendered. Grief and guilt and relief wracked her as she clung to his frame, his hands rubbing her back. Her fingers clawed at him as the both melted to the floor, their bodies touching from knee to shoulder.

It was a long time before she spoke again. By then they were leant against the cupboard doors, legs outstretched, fingers interlocked. “It was me.”

“Hmm?”

She rested her head on his shoulder. “1902.”

Nikola smirked. “I figured that out.”

“And Vienna... And the night of VE Day...”

Nikola's head turned to look at her, his mouth suddenly dry. “That does explain a few things. Like how James told me you and he had spent the evening drinking with Winston, even meeting His Majesty, when I knew I had drunk champagne from your belly button.”

Helen grinned, her eyes unfocused in recollection. “That was a good night. I was worried someone would catch us. Didn't want to muck up the time line but...”

“But?”

She looked at him. “I missed you.”

“Little old me?” His smile showed off his teeth, utterly glad he had been the one to make older ( _wiser?_ ) Helen Magnus feel. The smile melted under the weight of her gaze. Like magnets, the drifted closer until finally ( _finally!_ ), they were kissing again. No games, no tricks, just her lips on his.

“Not so little,” Helen murmured lasciviously, giving him a long, lingering look over.

Smirking, Nikola kissed her forehead, before tugging her hand. “Come on. I saw a cheeky bottle of Dom Perignon on my travels in your delightful new cellar just begging to help us celebrate.”


End file.
